


Zero to Quicksilver

by witchymarvelspacecase



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchymarvelspacecase/pseuds/witchymarvelspacecase
Summary: Reader is a driver/chauffeur… during the day at least. The Avengers are visiting the area she calls home and reader is hired as their escort. What could happen when they find themselves in the back seat of her car?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been kicking around in my head for a while. It was one of those that had me writing out the entire storyline in an hour, but unable to write the actual story, but HERE it is! Finally forming. Hope you enjoy

“‘Take the job’ he said. ‘It’ll be  _ easy _ ’ he said,” you grumbled under your breath as you see your clients approaching. “Last time I believe Ches when he says something’s ‘easy’. ‘Just some rich guy’  _ my fucking ass _ .” Ches had obviously been less than vigilant when assigning you your latest day-job. That lapse in awareness, had led to your latest chauffeur gig involving four of the Avengers. 

Most visibly, you saw Tony Stark working his way through the crowd of people that had formed as the quartet exited the building. He was followed by James Rhodes, Natasha Romanov, and a man with silver hair. You hadn’t heard much about Pietro Maximoff, being that he’d been pretty much dead until just recently. Since his resurrection, he hadn’t been much for the spotlight it seemed, but being that he was a part of the group you were driving, the team must have been planning to change that. 

The group had been in town for some kind of conference, answering questions that mostly seemed to center around the Accords fiasco. If the yelling that you could hear from outside was any indication, it hadn’t been all candy and cookies in there; people were  _ still _ bitter, people  _ still _ blamed the Avengers for everything from New York to their more recent squabble in a German airport. Most of the anger seemed to be shouldered by Tony Stark, but Pietro had faced some heat as well. And if his current countenance was anything to go by, he was ruffled. 

“I don’t see what good this did. We just sat there for an hour and let people yell at us,” Pietro grumbled just loud enough that you could hear. You kept your position by the car as the heroes approached, quietly opening the door for the first person to arrive.

“Y/N?” Tony asked.

“Yes, sir,” you nodded as Rhodes and Pietro slid into the back seat of the luxury sedan, “I’m supposed to shuttle you to the airstrip from here unless you have any other requests.”

“Nope, we’re heading back to civilization,” Tony answered, a smirk on his face as he slid into the back seat as well before you shut the door. Your city was hardly rural, but then again, pretty much anywhere looked less urban when compared to New York City. Natasha had rounded the car and let herself into the passenger seat while you talked to Tony, so you slid into the driver’s, started the car, and pulled away.

…

The private airstrip was only 30 minutes away, but not even 10 minutes into the drive, you noticed Natasha checking your mirrors. You’d noticed the SUV at your back as well, it’d been following you closely for at least the last few minutes. And as far as you knew, Ches hadn’t had a tail car assigned to you.

“I’m gonna assume that we aren’t being followed by anyone  _ friendly, _ right?” you asked calmly, switching lanes to move off the main road.

“That would be accurate,” Natasha said as she checked her phone before drawing a handgun.

An argument arose then, mostly involving Stark and Rhodes. They each wanted to do something, but they couldn’t agree on what. As they talked, you kept your eye on the SUV; it was getting closer even as you took odd side-streets and doubled back. The tail made their move just as Pietro spoke.

“Forget this. Let me out; I’ll take care of it.”

You caught Natasha’s eye then. You hit the child-locks; keeping the back doors from opening from the inside, and shot a significant look to Natasha’s seatbelt, signaling her to hold on. She nodded, and you hit the gas pedal, pulling sharply away from the SUV.

“ _ What the fuck? _ ” Rhodes yelled as he was forced back into his seat, and then forward as you pulled up on the handbrake and cut the wheel, drifting the car into a tight turn and down an alley.

“Just hold on,” you said. You punched the gas pedal again, zooming towards the other end of the alley. Your car shot out the other end just before another SUV could cage you in. 

“Holy  _ shit _ !” That time it was Tony who yelled as he tried to push himself away from the oncoming car. Pietro, meanwhile, was sitting wide-eyed and watching the world flash by with a small smile on his face.

“What’re you doing?” Natasha’s voice was even, her tone was calm, but she was looking out the rear window, monitoring the now two SUVs as they approached.

“Ditching the tail,” you replied, trying to match her tone as you dipped in and out of traffic, sometimes jumping into the oncoming lanes, “Don’t think you guys want to have a fight right now, especially not in the middle of a city.” 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Tony asked, a slight panic still in his voice, but he’d settled into his seat.

“I got this. If there’s one thing I  _ can _ do, its drive.” You shot him a smile in the rearview as you downshifted and hit the gas.

You knew the city well. You’d grown up there, more importantly, you grew up in the racing community there. You’d been tuning engines with your dad before you could reach the pedals, and you’d driven a manual transmission at 12.

You’d driven these streets a thousand times over, both at legal speeds and  _ not _ so legal speeds. Getting and staying ahead of other drivers?  _ Please _ . You didn’t lose often. But then again, most of your competitors didn’t  _ shoot _ at you. Not to say it hadn’t happened, cause it  _ had _ , but it was a wrinkle you weren’t used to.

“ _ Of course  _ they have guns,” you grumbled, twisting the wheel sharply and swerving through traffic.

Most of the bullets hit the body of the car, but at least one made it into the cabin, shattering the back window.

“ _ Motherfucker _ !” Pietro yelled. A bullet had caught in his shoulder.

Natasha, ever prepared, was returning fire through the now broken back window. 

“Any ideas guys? I don’t have unlimited ammunition here.” Stark and Rhodes didn’t speak up, looking at you instead. Pietro was looking at his arm, but caught your gaze in the rearview.

“Once I lose these idiots, I have a safe house you all can use,” you supplied as you sped into an intersection. You yanked on the handbrake and turned the wheel, guiding the car through a controlled drift that turned into a 180, effectively leaving the less agile SUVs in the dust.

…

A few minutes later, once you were sure you’d actually lost your pursuers, you pulled into an underground parking structure.

“ _ This _ is a safehouse?” Pietro asked as you parked and climbed out of the now battered sedan.

“No, we’re just switching cars. Can’t expect to stay hidden when we’re riding around in a car riddled with bullet holes and missing a back window. Oh, and dump your phones; they could have been following us that way.” 

Although you couldn’t imagine all five of you being terribly comfortable in your small hatchback, you felt safe knowing you had  _ your _ car. You’d built the engine yourself, tuned the suspension, and added nitros. You left the exterior almost entirely alone though, to keep it as low profile as possible.

“Please tell me it’s not a long drive,” Pietro whined, holding his arm tight to his chest to keep his shoulder stabilized. The others had done what they could for the speedster, but he’d need the extensive first aid kit you kept at home.

“Not long,” you assured. 

And true to your word, not 15 minutes later, you were pulling into the garage of the small farmhouse you called home. 

You led the Avengers into your kitchen and gave them the quick version of a tour, instructing them as to where the bedrooms and bathrooms were as you pulled the first aid kit from the pantry and had Pietro sit at your kitchen table. 

“Okay, so I’m guessing ‘chauffeur’ isn’t the  _ only _ title you’ve got,” Tony said as he leaned against the doorway leading into the kitchen. He watched as you gently maneuvered the bullet out of Pietro’s shoulder, and started to clean the wound.

“What ever gave you  _ that _ idea,” you sassed, more than a hint of sarcasm lacing your voice. Pietro winced and unconsciously gripped your arm as you dabbed antiseptic on his shoulder. With your free hand, you grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze back. “I’m just your average driver.”

“ _ Average _ ? Of what variety?” Pietro asked. You couldn’t see his face, but he was smiling as you dropped his hand to bandage his shoulder.

“The street racing variety.”

…

“Let me get this straight,” Steve Rogers said, his voice coming from the speakerphone in the middle of the table, “you’re calling me from an unlisted number, from a house out of town, because you were driven there by the chauffeur that Happy hired, who is  _ not _ a chauffeur, after a car chase, that  _ made the news _ by the way, involving two SUVs and automatic weapons?”

“Sounds about right,” Natasha answered, her elbows on the table, her head resting in her hand; Tony and Rhodes sat around the table as well. Pietro was in one of your spare bedrooms, hopefully resting.

“Who is this kid?” Steve asked, he sounded exasperated, “you didn’t have Happy check her out first?”

“Technically, Mr. Stark’s guy hired my ‘friend’s’ company, who contracts jobs out to me. I’m sure his company came up squeaky clean,” you answered; Ches wouldn’t have stood for anything less.

“She speaks,” came a new voice from the speaker phone. You smirked; you loved a good snark competition.

“Multiple languages actually. Mostly sarcasm. Any other questions?”

“Oh more by the second.”

“Okay, thank you, Sam. Back on topic,” Steve interrupted. 

“Killjoy,” you muttered. “I’m gonna go check on Pietro, so y’all can talk.”

The others nodded, Tony shot you a smile as you grabbed your strongest painkillers and a bottle of water before leaving the kitchen.

…

PIetro was pacing the room. “That’s not exactly  _ resting _ ,” you commented, cocking an eyebrow at him as he smirked.

“Not good at sitting still. Plus, this hurts like a bitch.” You nodded in understanding. 

“Don’t know if these will help, but they’re the strongest I’ve got,” you said holding out the painkillers.

“Maybe, maybe not. Some stuff my body processes too fast,” Pietro grumbled. It probably wasn’t the first time he’d had this issue.

“Well, if they  _ do _ work, they’ll probably make you drowsy as fuck. You may wanna sit down at least.” Pietro scoffed lightly, but did as you suggested. After he sat himself on the edge of the bed, you handed him the pills, and then the water bottle after he’d popped the pills into his mouth.

“So, if these are supposed to make me tired, wanna tell me a bedtime story then?” Pietro asked in a cheeky voice, a smile playing on his mouth.

You tilted your head and smiled back. “I don’t know too many of those, didn’t hear ‘em much as a kid, but I guess I can try.”

“Tell me about  _ you _ then,” he smiled bigger, like he was actually curious.

“Not much to tell,” you shrugged.

“I beg to differ.”

“Okay, um… What do you want to know?” As far as you were concerned, there wasn’t much about you that could possibly interest an Avenger.

“Where’d you learn to drive like that?”

“My dad. He was a racer. My brother too.”

“Was?” Pietro asked, his eyes softening.

“Yeah. Dad died a few years ago.”

“And your brother?”

You laughed dryly, “Well he’s a fuck-up of epic proportions. He was a racer, but that wasn’t enough for him. He got in with a shitty crew and he wound up breaking more than a few laws. He got caught, and he’s in prison upstate now.” Pietro’s eyes widened, he and sister were so close, it didn’t make sense to him how you and your brother weren’t the same.

“You sound like you didn’t get along,” he hedged.

“That, is the understatement of the century.” When Pietro didn’t say anything, just looked at you as if expecting you to elaborate, you sighed and continued. “Cliffnotes version? He got in trouble, and his first instinct was to come home, expecting dad to fix it. Well dad wasn’t home, I was, he brought the trouble to the front door, and escaped out the back, leaving me to take the damage instead.”

“What damage?” You closed your eyes and sighed. Why was he asking you so many questions? Why did he look so much like he cared. Why were you  _ answering him? _ You had no clue, but you did.

“Another crew was after him. He broke into their warehouse. He ran, so they found me instead. They, uh… they beat the shit out of me, is what they did. I’m lucky dad came home and found me. I woke up in the hospital.” You kept your eyes averted, not wanting to see the pity on Pietro’s face. Pietro though, wasn’t having it, he wanted to offer comfort, so he pushed himself up from the bed. Only to almost collapse. Apparently the painkillers  _ were _ effective.

You caught him as he stumbled and helped him back to the bed. “Maybe you oughta lay down. Looks like the pills are working.” You gave him a little smile.

Pietro allowed you to help him lay back, but as you went to move away, he caught your hand. “Thank you, înger. I am sorry you have been hurt.” His words were a little slurred, but you understood most of what he said. When you asked for clarification though, you noticed that Pietro had fallen asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

You had assumed, that after a few days, the Avengers would have forgotten about you. Not in a hurtful way, simply that their lives were so full of odd occurrences that one weird chauffeur wouldn’t stand out. Oh boy were you wrong. 

At first, it was fairly low-key. You would spot one or two of them around your normal haunts, but they weren’t around for long, and they didn’t make too much of an effort to speak with you. Except Pietro. 

Though Pietro’s visits weren’t very long either, he always came to talk with you. He’d startled you the first few times that he’d appeared in a place he shouldn’t have been, but when he continued to show up, you began to expect him in the oddest of places. After a while, you could swear that you could hear him coming, though that wasn’t possible.

You looked forward to his visits, especially when your ex, Jackson, showed back up in the city. Jackson’s presence was about as welcome as a porcupine in your underwear. He just kept showing up. The dickwad would post up by your car where it was parked between jobs. He’d shown up at the office. Once, he’d even tried to stop by your house. That encounter had ended when you reminded him that you kept guns in the house. He walked away unscathed, but there was a neat bullet hole in the brim of his stupidly angled hat.

Pietro had yet to show up at the same time as Jackson, and you were grateful for that. Though you knew that Pietro was more than capable of handling himself, you didn’t want to drag him into your problems; you wanted to protect him. Shaking your head at the thought, you dragged your mind back to the task at hand. Nothing overly exciting, making a small adjustment to the front suspension of your racer. That was probably why your mind had wandered; you were in a safe place, doing a job that was fairly mundane.

You’d locked the rolling garage door after entering. You rented the space downtown to store and work on cars as needed, and though the garage itself wasn’t much to look at, you were comfortable there. You used the office space for whatever small bookkeeping tasks popped up, but it was mostly a storage area with a desk and mini fridge. The garage bay was clean and organized, but fairly beat up and used. You kept an old couch there to rest on when necessary, and a few space heaters for when it got cold. It was a place that you’d made your own, but it didn’t feel as safe anymore.

The neighborhood that the garage was in wasn’t the best, but that wasn’t what concerned you. You’d grown up in the area, you knew the people here, and they knew you. You were more worried about one person in particular. The locks on the door were not all that hard to pick if a person was motivated enough. Considering Jackson had been the one to teach you to pick locks, you knew he could get through if he wanted to. 

A knock on the metal of the door had you dropping the wrench you were holding, which wouldn’t have been a problem, had you not been holding it over your head. The yelp you let out when it hit you was undignified, and you hoped that no one was around to hear.

Grumbling and rubbing at the spot on your forehead that would probably be sporting a sizeable goose-egg tomorrow, you went to the door.

“What” you called through it. Normally, you would have been more polite, but you were tired. And now you had a headache.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”  _ Pietro _ . Letting out a breath, you bent to unlock, and roll up the door.

“I’m okay. Just startled me. I dropped my wrench.” You waved him in, intending to shut the door behind him, but Pietro stepped close to you when you went to turn. One of his hands was on your jaw, tilting your head to the side slightly, he looked at your forehead.

“You’re bleeding,” he said, not letting go of your chin. “Where is your first aid kit?” You smiled. Pietro knew that you had a kit pretty much everywhere.

“Back wall, top right cabinet.”

Pietro released you and was gone for maybe a second before he’d returned with the kit and a wet cloth that he must have grabbed from the restroom.

“I can-” you stated.

“Of course you can, but I am here, and I’m offering to do it. So why not let me help?” Pietro asked with a smile, as he leaned in to begin dabbing at your head. He made it hard to argue with him when he said it like that. Instead of sounding petulant, you stood still and let Pietro clean and bandage what was probably a very small cut.

“Now,” Pietro said after disposing of the used towel and other supplies, “tell me why the door was locked.”

You furrowed your brow, frowning at him. “Because I’m a woman, alone, in a less than safe part of the city.” 

“Every time I’ve been by before, your door has been partially open. Why the change?”

You shrugged, hoping you appeared nonchalant. It wasn’t that you wanted to lie, just that you didn’t want Pietro to know about Jackson. He was  _ your _ problem, and you had a feeling that telling Pietro would complicate what was the most comfortable relationship you’d had in your life. 

Pietro had never seemed to judge you, regardless of what you were doing. He asked questions, and listened to your responses. When you were uncomfortable, he backed off. And though you could tell he was curious about you, he didn’t pry. Most of Pietro’s visits ended with pizza and a movie at your house, or a beer at the garage. There were no uncomfortable expectations. 

“Do you- are you safe?” Pietro asked when you didn’t respond further.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” you hedged. You couldn’t deny that you’d taken extra precautions, but you hoped he would let you off the hook.

Pietro didn’t look satisfied with your answer, but when you expected him to push, he didn’t. “Will you promise me something? If it ever becomes  _ more _ than you can handle, will you tell me?”

You wanted to brush him off, but when you met his eyes, the worry in them broke you. You had expected annoyance, not worry; expected for him to feel obligated to help you, but annoyed that he had to. Other people’s worry was not something you were used to.

“That’ll be hard to do considering you seem to show up whenever you feel like it,” you said with a small, slightly fake laugh.

Pietro seemed to think for a moment. “Where is your cell phone?” he asked. In answer, you pointed to the small desk in the office. A blur, and PIetro was holding your phone in his hand.

He scowled down at it. “You don’t have any emergency contacts.”

“Well, my dad’s dead, and my brother is in prison. Not really close to anyone else if I‘m honest.” You shrugged and put your hands in your pockets, feeling defensive.

Pietro muttered something under his breath while he began typing on your phone. Whatever he said, had been in another language, so you wouldn’t have been able to understand him even if you could have heard him. When he handed your phone back to you, it had several new numbers in it, including his. His number was labeled “I.C.E”. 

You looked up, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Not that I don’t appreciate this, but don’t you live a little far away for this to be effective?”

He gave you an exasperated smile, “I am the fastest man on Earth,” he said as if that explained everything. Though you still had questions, you held them in, smiling back at Pietro instead. 

“Thanks.”

“Promise you’ll use it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Pietro, you have more important things to worry about than-” you cut yourself off as you heard a footstep behind you. Turning, you muttered  _ “jesus fuck,” _ under your breath.

“Who’s this, Sugar?” came the unwelcome question from the  _ very _ unwelcome voice.


	3. Chapter 3

The string of curse words that ran through your mind would have put a drunken sailor to shame; nothing but an angry growl left your lips though. Pietro, who had been standing close to you, was suddenly right behind you, his body stiff. He didn’t speak, but you could feel his body heat seeping into your back, it was an unexpected comfort.

You met Jackson’s gaze, but you didn’t respond, you could feel your stomach turning over. For a moment, no one spoke.

“Don’t be like that Y/N. I just asked a simple question,” Jackson said. If you hadn’t known better, his tone of voice and posture would probably have fooled you into believing he was the uncomfortable, embarrassed maybe, but you knew. You knew just how good of an actor Jackson had become.

“A question that you have no right to ask, and one I choose not to answer,” you replied, tone icly calm, despite the tremor you could feel in your body. Mostly, your reaction was anger, but there was a little part of you, one that you denied for the most part, that was afraid.

“Aw, sugar-”

“Not your ‘sugar’,” you cut Jackson off before he could continue. There was nothing he could possibly have to say that you would want or need to hear. “Now, I’m not sure why the fuck you’re here, and I don’t really give a shit. Get. Lost.” 

When he opened his mouth to speak again, you said, “I thought I made myself clear. I do not want to see, hear, or speak to you. Go. Away.” You crossed your arms and planted you feet shoulder width apart.

“Y/N-” Jackson started, but this time Pietro cut him off.

“She told you to leave. I suggest you do so.” He didn’t raise his voice, but there was menace in his tone.

Jackson put his hands up in what should have been a placating gesture, but from him, it looked mocking. 

“I just came to talk, but I can see I’m not welcome. I’ll come back and see ya later when you’re not… involved.”

“Don’t bother,” you growled, “you won’t ever be welcome here.”

Jackson’s eyes narrowed, and a worrying grin spread across his lips. “Whatever you say, Y/N.” He left after saying that, but you didn’t feel any better. 

You could feel your body tremble slightly as the supply of adrenaline started to wane, and you jumped when you felt Pietro put his hands on your upper arms.

“Hey,” he said in a calming tone. When had he moved in front of you? Why did it seem like he’d been calling you for a while?

Taking a deep breath, you met his eyes. Where there was usually a spark of mischief and humor in the grey-blue, there was only a steel edge. His grip was gentle on your biceps, but he didn’t seem likely to release you anytime soon. You uncrossed your arms, slowly, and shifted them so you could rest your hands on Pietro’s forearms.

Speaking lightly, you answered him. “I’m okay.”

“Really?” he said, disbelievingly.

A humorless chuckle passed your lips. “Yeah, this is nothing new.”

“Is that supposed to make me worry less?” Pietro asked, eyebrows raised. After a pause he added, “He is why you had your door closed.” He hadn’t phrased it like a question, but you nodded anyway.

“I’d hoped not to have to deal with him like this, but he’s been hanging around a lot lately.”

“Who is he?” Pietro asked.

You let out a deep sigh, resting a bit of your weight on Pietro’s arms. “Ex-boyfriend.”

“I’m guessing the relationship didn’t end well.”

“That would be an understatement. You remember me telling you my brother got into bad shit? The shit that got me beat up?” At Pietro’s nod, you continued, “The asshole you just saw leave was the leader of the gang of said bad shit. I didn’t know ‘til later. Fucker had the gall to visit me in the hospital, as if he hadn’t been involved.” That still stung. When you had found out about a month after leaving the hospital, it had all but punched your chest in. You had trusted Jackson, had feelings for him, and he had participated in, had  _ orchestrated _ your beating. 

Pietro’s grip tightened. “How dangerous is he to you?”

PIetro was a lot calmer than you’d expected, or at least, he seemed calm. Of course, you couldn’t hear him practically grinding his teeth, and you couldn’t see the thoughts running through his head; the least violent of which involved calling the rest of the Avengers. 

“I’m not sure. Usually, I would say, ‘not very’; I carry a gun, and have no issue using it, but he’s been more persistent lately, and I’m not really sure why.”

“And you live alone, with no close neighbors, and work in a shady part of town,” Pietro completed.

“Hey, watch what you’re calling ‘shady’. I grew up here,” you joked.

“Y/N, have you looked around yourself lately?”

“Yeah, I know how it looks, but I’m safe here.”

“He walked right in, Y/N.”

Pietro’s mind was spinning. All he could think was that he was too far away. If something happened to you, he wasn’t going to be able to protect you. 

“Look, he’s an angry bastard, and I don’t  _ like _ dealing with him, but I’ve got this.”

“Yes, but-”

“No ‘but’s,” you said, shrugging out of his hold, “I was hoping you wouldn’t even find out about him, cause I figured you’d get all weird about it. I don’t need your help.” You wrapped out arms around yourself as you backed away slightly. 

You had a feeling this would happen. Pietro was gonna start taking over, assuming you couldn’t handle your own shit.  _ Fuck that. _ You were more than capable of taking care of yourself, you knew that. You had dealt with plenty of worse things in your life, but for some reason, even though you’d expected it to happen, Pietro starting to act all domineering  _ hurt _ .

“Hey,” Pietro said sternly. He’d moved so that he had you cornered; you wouldn’t be able to get around him easily. He held his hands up and spoke again. “I’m not saying you  _ need _ my help. For fuck’s sake, within an hour of meeting you, you’d already saved not only  _ my _ ass, but Stark’s, Rhodes’, and Romanoff’’s as well. I just want you to know that you have backup, if you  _ want _ it.”

It took a moment for what Pietro said to sink in. Even then, you struggled to respond.

“I- uh. Thanks,” you stuttered.

Pietro chucked a little and dropped his hands, “You’re welcome, înger.” 

…

You cleaned up your workshop pretty quickly, not particularly wanting to stay in the garage anymore. Locking up behind you, you and Pietro decided to head to your house. Once you got there, you reheated some leftover lasagna you’d made the night before, and offered some to Pietro, along with a beer. 

The conversation was almost as comfortable as usual, as if Jackson hadn’t shown his ugly face, but as the night drew on, as Pietro was preparing to leave, you saw him tense.

He cleared his throat, “So, I don’t want to make you feel like I’m interfering, but are you sure you’re safe? I don’t want to leave you alone if you’re not comfortable.”

You almost rolled your eyes. “I’m fine, Piet. There’s a race coming up out of town, so I’m leaving soon anyway.”

“Where’s the race?” he asked.

You cocked an eyebrow, ready to nag Pietro for getting too involved, but he laughed. “The rest of the team still wants to see you drive. If it’s close enough, we can probably even get the Captain out to see.” Pietro’s smile was bright, and at least 50% honest. You narrowed your eyes.

“I was actually hoping you’d visit before I left; the race is in New York.”

Pietro’s smile grew, and he was practically vibrating on the spot, though knowing him, he may actually have been moving fast enough to appear that way.

“That’s wonderful,” he cheered, “now everyone will be able to see you drive!”

You laughed lightly and shook your head. “Ya know, I can’t imagine Captain America being all that interested in the illegal street racing scene.” The image of him standing amongst the crowds of people that usually populated the races was enough to make you laugh.

“He’s surprisingly laid back when it comes to the law. As long as you’re not hurting anyone, he probably won’t have a problem with it. Actually,” Pietro added on a laugh, “I think Barnes and Wilson will especially like you, so the Captain won’t really have a choice.”

You snorted inelegantly, leaning back against your kitchen counter.

“When are you going to be leaving for New York? Where are you staying?”

“I was gonna leave in three days, and I was getting an airBnB.”

Pietro did start vibrating then. You could see him blurring just a little bit as if he couldn’t contain himself. “You can come stay with me. I mean with the team. There’s plenty of room and I’m sure Stark would be happy to have you.”

“But, I-”

“He’s been trying to think of a way to repay you since the incident. He hasn’t come up with the right gift yet.”

“He knows he doesn’t have to, right? I told him about a million times,” anxiety creeped into your voice as you asked. You didn’t want anyone to feel like they owed you anything.

Pietro chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think he listened. He’s Tony Stark; he’s gonna do what he wants.”

“You’re right,” you nodded. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about that. He doesn’t hear ‘no’ a lot does he?”

“Only from Ms. Potts really. The team tries, but I think Ms. Potts is the only one he listens to.” Pietro shot you a smile. “He’s a little tough to get used to.”

“Says the human blur,” you snarked, nudging his shoulder. He made a face in response. “Did you just stick out your tongue at me?” you asked in disbelief, hands on your hips.

“So what if I did, înger?” Pietro responded, mirroring your stance, but closing the distance between you so that he was only a few inches away. With your butt still against your counter, there wasn’t much space for you to move.

“I’d say you shouldn’t stick it out unless you wanna share it,” you joked without thinking. What a time for inappropriate things to come out of your mouth. 

Your face was already pink and cringing when Pietro spoke. “Oh? And how do you know I don’t want to share,  prețios?”

Well that wasn’t the response you were expecting, You’d expected him to be uncomfortable, not play into it. You could feel your cheeks reddening, but you didn’t back down, though you did move your arms to cross your chest.

Clearing your suddenly dry throat, you said, “You seem to like trapping me, Pietro.”

Pietro’s voice was low when he responded. ‘You’re not trapp ed, bibic. I know you can get away. I’m just slowing you down, so that I can catch you.” He came even closer then, smiling mischievously, as he practically pressed his lips to your ear before saying, “We’ll have to test my ‘trap’ later. Maybe then I can show you how much I like to  _ share _ .” A barely-there kiss was pressed to your neck, just below your ear, and before you could draw breath, he was gone. 

Your heart was racing again, but for a very different reason. Your phone buzzing startled you, but a goofy smile spread across your lips when you read the message.

 


End file.
